


Spill My Transgressions

by ThisIsMyRPFAccount



Category: Staged (TV 2020)
Genre: Apologies, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28526643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyRPFAccount/pseuds/ThisIsMyRPFAccount
Summary: David wonders if Michael is even watching him. If it matters that Michael’s watching. If this is doing literallyanythingto make Michael feel better or in a more forgiving mood. The actual act of standing in the corner is ridiculous, but it’s what it symbolizes - the slight humiliation like he’s a kid in trouble at school, like David accepts that he needs to bepunishedsomehow - that he hopes makes a difference.-----David atones in any way Michael will accept.
Relationships: Michael Sheen/David Tennant
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	Spill My Transgressions

**Author's Note:**

> Me: David atoning by standing silently in the corner while Michael watches is non-sexual kink. Sorry, I don't make the rules.  
> A friend: What if it was sexual though. Haha, just kidding. Unless...
> 
> Season two tomorrow!

“That’s half an hour.”

Michael still isn’t looking at him. He doesn’t know if Michael had looked at him the entire time he’d stood penitent in the corner. 

Michael’s never been this quiet, this still before. They’ve been best friends for three years at this point - he’s seen his share of Michael’s anger. It ranges from playful and giggly to a fury David hasn’t seen much of in his life. But it’s never been silent, and it’s never really been directed towards David himself. He’d found himself at a loss which found him standing in the corner for half an hour like he’s a kid again. Georgia and everyone are out on a long walk for the afternoon - he’d stand in the corner for hours if it meant Michael would just say _anything_.

“Should I do it again?” he asks. 

Michael turns sharply to him, and David nearly flinches at the actual hurt in his eyes, the anger held in every line of his face. His heart sinks.

“The credits will be ‘Michael Sheen and That Fucking Liar David Tennant’.”

“Yeah,” David swallows. “Okay, seems fair.”

Michael looks away from him, and David catches just a hint of a chin wobble, and oh he’s going to cry at that. He doesn’t know how many more times he can say he’s sorry. Standing in the corner for a second time is another stupid idea, but it’s the only one he has. He sets the alarm for half an hour and stands up without a word, walks to the corner, and clasps his hands in front of him.

Ten minutes go by, and the silence is excruciating. David’s not used to a life with silence anymore. Between the kids and Georgia and Michael, there is always someone speaking, some kind of ambient conversation floating in the background. But now there’s nothing. 

He didn’t realize just how much it would hurt Michael, is the thing. He has a problem with conflict, and really why would he think that Sam and Michael would have spoken to each other? He just didn’t think, was more concerned with conflict management rather than trusting in his relationship with Michael. He lied and said awful things about Michael on both a personal and a professional level. He gets why he’s so upset. His previous transgressions have always been forgiven with a simple apology, the understanding of the regret there, and it hurts that this time it isn’t enough.

David wonders if Michael is even watching him. If it matters that Michael’s watching. If this is doing literally _anything_ to make Michael feel better or in a more forgiving mood. The actual act of standing in the corner is ridiculous, but it’s what it symbolizes - the slight humiliation like he’s a kid in trouble at school, like David accepts that he needs to be _punished_ somehow - that he hopes makes a difference.

A huff comes from his laptop that breaks the ringing silence, and he prepares for a tirade. He could do with a good tirade - it meant at least that Michael has moved into a mood he’s familiar with, one he can handle. David bows his head a bit more, shifts his weight to his other foot, and braces his shoulders for the onslaught. If he’s also trying to convey a more apologetic body language - well, he’s an actor. Translating his feelings physically comes naturally.

The tirade doesn’t come, and David tries not to feel too disappointed. He shifts his weight again, taps his fingers together where they’re resting held in front of him.

Michael makes a couple more breathy noises, and David turns his head slightly, straining his ear to figure out what’s going on. They’re coming in a quick, steady rhythm and there’s faint hint of something _wet_ , and that’s when he freezes and his stomach plummets into arousal. He couldn’t possibly be--

Michael’s name leaves his lips and he’s moving before he can stop himself, but as soon as he starts, Michael growls out “Don’t turn around. Face the wall like you’ve been told.”

David obeys immediately, and his head swims with how quickly his blood rushes south at Michael’s gruff, demanding tone. He squeezes his hands together to focus, tries not to spell “SUBMISSION” backwards in his head, and ignores the growing problem in his shorts.

Michael is jerking off. On camera. Right behind him. It’s not like they haven’t done this before during lockdown, but David’s always been right there with him. He feels awkward, just standing here and not participating. But the shame of his guilt combines sickly sweet with his arousal and his desperate, innate need to _please_ into a fog of desire that’s quickly making him want to beg for forgiveness and maybe another thing or two.

The breathy sounds continue to pierce the silence, each one landing like a lance to David’s heart, which quickly translates to his cock twitching and leaking in his pants. He can’t help it, his hands are right there, and he gives his shaft a quick squeeze to take the edge off, hoping Michael won’t notice. He does.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself,” Michael bites out. “Don’t turn around and don’t speak. You’re _atoning_ , David. Accepting your punishment for what you’ve done. You insulted me, you were manipulative and cowardly, and since I can’t bend you over my knee to give you a spanking, you’re going to face that corner and think about what you’ve done until I tell you you’re finished.”

The image of Michael taking him in his lap and spanking him until he’s crying and snotty and apologetic, his arse blazing red with Michael’s handprint, causes a high whining keen to slip out of his throat. He immediately clamps his lips shut to stop any more sounds coming out, not knowing if Michael wants him to be _completely_ silent, and then tightens his fists into balls before lowering them slowly to his side. 

“Good boy,” Michael murmurs.

He’s going to die in this corner of his fucking kitchen and Georgia’s going to have to explain something to their family. He looks for patterns in the paint on the wall. Anything to distract him from the constant stream of _please, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything you want, please just let me touch myself with you, I’m sorry_ running through his head. 

But he’s doing this _for_ Michael. Michael’s taken his offering of standing in this corner and turned it into what Michael needs for it to matter. It’s what he wanted - it’s what he _wants_. It is humiliating and thrilling and he wishes Michael was in the same room with him, for his noises and his musky aroma to stifle him with heady arousal.

God, he is a pathetic and needy thing.

Now that Michael knows that David knows he’s touching himself, he’s a bit more vocal. Little grunts and groans pour from his laptop’s speakers, and David’s cock is leaking like a faucet, an obscene wet patch present at the front of his shorts. He can tell Michael’s biting his lip as he strokes himself by the way the sounds are muffled as they transmit through the air. He wonders if Michael has bothered to pull his trousers down, or if he’s just tucked his thick cock over his waistband. Is he using two hands, fondling his balls the way David knows he likes? 

He wants to look so badly. There’s something remarkable about Michael when he’s aroused. It’s a single-minded focus on pleasure, and it’s given David several incredibly remarkable orgasms in the past. But he won’t look, because he’s being obedient. He’s _repenting_. 

His ears are burning red. He hopes Michael can see.

The patterns in the paint on the wall are swirling together and he squeezes his eyes shut to steady himself. He’s desperate to move, to do anything but stand here. Michael is treating him as an object for his pleasure, and David _wants_ him to. He feels degraded and embarrassed and he’s never been more aroused. 

Finally Michael’s breath quickens as he approaches the end, and David’s own breath seems to match his rhythm. Michael comes, a low, deep shout punching out from his lungs, and David needs to turn around, needs to see him, but he can’t, he can’t, he’s _so sorry_ , he needs to touch himself, he’s not worthy of it, he--

“David,” Michael says.

He swallows, his throat so thick he can hardly manage it. “Yes, Michael?” His voice is wrecked already and he hasn’t even touched himself.

“Do you have anything to say?”

The barest permission, and suddenly the stream of his thoughts is bursting out of him unbidden. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Michael, I was being a coward and I was dismissive of our friendship and your talent, and you--you--you know how I get sometimes, just--people pleaser, that’s me. Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--” Tears are pooling in his eyes. He’s so overwhelmed, his emotions so twisted up from the past fifteen minutes, the past several hours. “You’re incredible, there’s no one else I want to work with on this project, no one else. Please, Michael, please, please, please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s begging for at this point. It doesn’t really matter. He just needs Michael to say everything’s okay, that _they’re_ okay.

“Come here.”

David spins around, his hands still clenched tight at his sides and his erection tenting in shorts obscenely. He’s finally looking at Michael, desperate for any sign of his mood. Michael has a pink flush on his cheeks, the lines of his face more relaxed than they were before. His mouth is still held taut, but the sheer amount of hurt in his eyes seems to have softened. David can’t see Michael’s lower half, so he doesn’t know if Michael’s cock is still out or if he’s tucked himself away. 

Michael gives him a once over, and David’s past the point of pretending like he’s not frantic for approval, for any sign of appreciation in the man’s gaze.

“You can touch yourself.”

David nearly sobs in relief, and his hand is shoved into his shorts and wrapped around his cock before he even has them pulled all the way down. His dick is red and wet and the sheer amount of precome that’s leaked out of him provides no resistance as he fists his cock over and over.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he pants out. “I’m sorry, thank you, fuck.”

Michael sits there and watches him, doesn’t offer any of his typical appreciative hums or murmured praises. It adds to the humiliation, that David is so desperate to get off just from _listening_ to Michael, and Michael doesn’t seem to give a shit what David does. The show is part of his punishment, but he needs it so badly he doesn’t care. He wants to show Michael how sorry he is in any way that Michael wants.

The whirlwind of this exercise in penitence shocks through his heart and his cock and the soles of his feet until it centers in his gut, and he feels like something is about to snap.

“I’m--I’m about to--can I?” he gasps out, his pace only slowing down a fraction as he waits for the permission he knows needs to be granted.

Michael sighs and purses his lips to give it a much longer consideration than is warranted, and god, David hates him and loves him and is going to kill him when things are back to normal.

“You can come, David.” 

The words are barely out of Michael’s mouth, and David is spilling over his fist with a low whine. His come lands on the table and narrowly avoids hitting the laptop. He rests his hand on the table, hunched over the computer, as he steadies his breath and then tucks himself back in. The alarm on his phone goes off, and he jumps before turning it off.

“You don’t need to do another round in the corner. I think two was enough for you to learn your lesson.” 

David sits down on the bench, and Michael is finally looking at him for longer than a couple of seconds.

“Yeah. Good. Sounds good. Could send you like, a fruit basket or something. Too. Just because, you know, I really am sorry.” He almost puts his elbow in some of his come on the table and he wrinkles his nose. “God, this is unsanitary. We fucking eat here. Hold on--”

He stands up in search of a paper towel and a disinfectant wipe. Michael chuckles, and David lets out a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“David, I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

David turns back to the screen and leans over to rest his arms on the table, his face close to the camera. “Yeah, tomorrow. See you then.”

Michael nods. “Looking forward to it.”


End file.
